O R A C L E
by Ane S. Thesia
Summary: Twentysix years of stories untold. Mitarashi Anko was never a lucky person how she's managed to survive all the years is lost even on her. Let us fill in the blanks. Alternate Reality, Mature Themes, Spoilers. Many different character interactions.
1. Prologue

**LONG A/N:** So, I've kinda been writing this Anko-centric _thing_ for a while now. The muses have been kind, but also somewhat cruel, in their operation within my brain. I've got about 9500 words written on subjects that keep jumping around against my will. There's an odd span of half-written instances (which I do intend on finishing, just over time and in fragments o.O), spanning from Anko's last conversation with Orochimaru as student and sensei, Anko's stay in ANBU care after his defection, her inevitable 'house arrest' afterwards... Her 'friendship' with Kurenai as teenagers, her strange relationship with Kakashi... --skip skip skip-- Her likeness to Sasuke, and totally cracked-out coincidental meetings between the two in the future.

Uh, anyway, within all this mess I have finished one section. And I decided that it'd make a decent prologue before I go back to the _beginning_.

So, yeah, I hope you guys enjoy this? Let me know if there's anything weird about it or hard to understand (because lord knows my mind constructs some intensely horrible sentence structure). ;)

Here we go-- my 'whatever' which is being tentatively called 'Oracle' for the time-being, because I kinda like it but I'm sure there's a better title to be had elsewhere and it's escaping me---------!

* * *

**_O R A C L E_**

_Prologue_  
.  
.

_'For Want of a Nail the Shoe Was Lost...'_  
.  
.  
.

She'd known.

Like some brand of cursed oracle, all mind and no heart, his path was very, very clear to her. The moment she found out that the brat had received the mark- she'd fucking _known_ the consequence before anyone else had even a chance to begin _considering_ it.

And it disgusted her. From the burning on her own shoulder right down to her very core.

If _she's_ considered jaded, she thinks- then what does that make _him_?

.  
.

"Do you know what you're doing?" Her uncharacteristically neutral voice drifts from her leaning position just outside the gates.

He's already taken that step. He's past the threshold now, but he can still turn back. And she's pretty sure he's detected this in her inquiry.

.

His pause disconcerts her momentarily; but his crimson stare, which bores into her eyes unwavering, most certainly does _not_.

"I do."

Spoken with the clarity only a man looking nowhere but forward can capture.

.

Anko steps out from the shadows then, her form cutting into the streaks of moonlight filtering through the trees and pins him under here own stare. She may not have eyes which practically glow in the darkness like some type of beast's, and she may not have the _kekkai genkai_ so bloated with lore that powerful men salivate just _thinking_ about it...

What she _does_ have, however, are the eyes of a woman who has seen and experienced a lifetime too soon and lived to tell about it.

And perhaps there is nothing more powerful than eyes like those.

.

Sasuke seems to accept this notion easily enough, despite the adrenaline trying to push his body into a full-on sprint. For a moment all he notices is the way she seems to pick him apart under her gaze-- and the way his cursed seal itches as if new again.

.

_(There is a particular, undeniable clarity brought about the moment she removes her hitai-ate and lets it fall to the earth.)_

.

She steps up to him then, close enough that her trench-coat seems to billow around him as if it were arms dragging him nearer for secrecy.  
In a way, it is. There is an atmosphere of urgency filtering through the tension surrounding them, hiding them for just long enough-- so that _true contact_ can be made.

So when her long fingers are playing across the seal on his neck, as if touching the delicate strings of a harp, he does not flinch or turn away. Especially not when he notes the way her other hand is clasped over her own neck, over her own burden.

For a long moment, they simply hold one another's gaze, unmoving, taking in a silent conversation. His eyes have long since turned back to their natural inky color, but hers are still as razor sharp as ever.

There's an important lesson here, he realizes. And he sucks it all up like so many scrolls found hidden in his late father's study.

.

Anko speaks again, slowly and lightly this time, her breath ghosting over his brow as she levels her face with his in a way that would have been cause for discomfort any other time.

"Do. You. _Know_?"

It's the same question again; but it's marked with a different kind of connotation this time.

.

Which is of course not lost on Sasuke. He knows. He knows exactly what she means and-- by the ache on _his_ shoulder, down to _his_ very core --it's all much clearer than it's been in a long time.

_(If the second-to-last living Uchiha is _anything_, he is unwaveringly loyal to causes such as these.)_

So he smirks that trademark smirk, reaches back behind his head to tangle his fingers amidst hair the color of their twilight backdrop, and lets his own hitai-ate slide away from his forehead to land with a muted thud on the ground between them.

.

They're not two Konoha shinobi anymore, you see. _Not like this._ They're just two people with similar goals, similar strife carved into their pasts.

.

"I **do**."

.

She steps away then with her own matching smile, just as broken and heartless as his own. For a second she honestly wants to speak with him longer, make sure that he truly sees just how treacherous his new path will be... However, somewhere deep down she has faith that he already knows all about it; perhaps he's been identifying with it far longer than she could ever be totally aware of.

"It won't be easy," she says instead.

.

He will be a traitor like she once was-- but in her clear opinion, a 'traitor' with a goal spun from gold is not really a traitor at all.

Adversely, she once had one as well; though the differences are staggering because hers were constructed of _thorns_ and _shit_, and it's something she'll have hanging over her head until the day her body is introduced to the earth.

His will be not without regret, of course-- no _real_ goal is ever free of such things --but it will be _just_ and it will be of _honor_. Because along his road towards vengeance on a man who utterly destroyed his life; he will also be getting revenge for a woman who he perhaps has entirely too much in common with for it to be coincidence.

.

_(They both know she is caged far too tightly to ever avenge for herself-- and that, though something he doesn't actually have in common with her, is still something he can respect.)_

.

With a nod of understanding he steps away, turning his back to her and setting his eyes on the tree-tops.

.

"That girl will cry."

.

He nods again, never averting his eyes.

.

"That idiot will probably cry, too."

.

For a split-second he tenses then relaxes all the same and inclines his head, this time turning to direct a knowing look over his shoulder. They exchange another pause before he leaps using sure feet onto the nearest tree branch, one hand hanging low in front of him to rest fingertips near his toes, the other smoothing the rough bark belonging to the trunk which unknowingly supports his first real steps into history.

.

Anko bends to pick up his discarded hitai-ate, smoothing her thumb over the cold, metal plate as she grips it, and calls out to him.

He must have been losing himself somewhere in that maze he calls thoughts, because for a second he seems startled. His body remains low and crouched as he turns back inquisitively.

She chucks his only reminder, his only signature binding him to Konoha other than the crest on his back, straight into his outstretched hands.

He'd almost forgot-- it wasn't his intention to leave completely naked, after all.

"Don't forget where you came from," she half whispers, just loud enough for the breeze to carry her voice far enough for the boy to hear. "And..."

.

Sasuke stops in his actions of tying the symbol back onto his forehead, listening-- _truly listening_ --for what will probably be the last time for many years to come. He raises an eyebrow at her continuation.

.

"... make him **suffer**."

.

Anko is sure her statement applies to more than one monstrosity in the mind of the boy-- no, man --who's back she watches disappear into the foliage after one last smirk, nod, and words of understanding.

**"I will."**

.

There is no truer sentiment she can reflect on at that moment above his simple decree. The promise of violence, the promise of _revenge_. Despite his age it seemed as though he had been born to say those words on that very night outside the gates of Konoha; back emblazoned with the Uchiha Clan crest and an impossibly far reach to his vision. Always looking ahead, forward.

_Purpose._

.

As Anko ties her own symbol of belonging-- but also closes the temporary opening to her self-inflicted cage --into place... She realizes that she's never been so sure about anything in her life bar a few epiphanies here and there.

But this is no self-realization.

This is no sudden epiphany.

This is _faith_.

.

_(And if Anko is _anything_, just as the Uchiha now running towards his own destiny seeped in blood and hardship, she is faithful in causes such as these.)_

.

All she can do now is wait. And blunt truth be told, she is a master at this technique as well.  


.  
.

As she walks back to her empty apartment along the cobbled streets, empty and quiet just how she prefers them, she realizes something that only half-disturbs her.

.

Over all the years-- after all the time that have passed, the trusted partners she's acquired, the missions good and bad, the respect that's blossomed from within her, the appreciation she's realized... After all these things, she realizes: underneath it all she's still that lonely 12-year-old girl left behind on a forest trail, blindly throwing kunai at the back of a man who'd broken so many things upon his sudden departure.

Twelve years later she hasn't really changed at all-- only _adapted_. Whether this is good or bad escapes her entirely.

.

For now Anko can only hope that when her time finally comes there really won't be any_one_ or any_thing_ she'll have to answer to.

.

* * *

_**TBC... **_


	2. Considerately Killing Me

**_O R A C L E_**  
_Chapter **One  
**_.

.  
.

_**i.**_

.  
.

.

She can't decide which is _worse_; the fact that he's leaving, or the fact that he never intended on _telling _her.

.  
.

His mattress is still as stiff as ever, as if it's never really been slept on. _(In the back of her mind she wants to ask where he sleeps, if not _here.) Her feet just barely touch the floor from the edge of his four poster bed where she sits, nervously turning a kunai over in her hands to keep the shaking at bay. There's no way she'll let him see just how shaken she really is by her new revelation. No. Fucking. _Way_. She's stronger than that, she knows. And, besides-- _he_ expects her to be stronger than that.

_(Not that any of that nonsense seems to matter now.)_

The moment he'd entered his home, he'd asked her what she was doing without even sparing a glance as he strode purposefully towards the desk in the corner, not even stopping to turn on the lights.

_(Though she can't remember a time where the dilapidated cabin hasn't been covered in shadows, like it'd be wrong to shed light on it for some reason. She wouldn't be surprised to find that the iron standing-lamp next to the door just doesn't have a light-bulb in it.)_

Despite the distinct absence of visibility, her study of him over the years tells her that he is tense under all the layers of his Jounin uniform.

.

She never answers his question, just sits quietly and observes as he rummages through stacks of notebooks and scrolls, pulling aside certain ones here and there. This activity seems to go on forever _(effectively driving the poor girl nearly insane)_, the sorting of his personal defects amongst the clutter. Eventually he produces a large duffle-bag and begins stashing all of his treasures inside meticulously, eyes always straight ahead as if his young pupil were not there on his bed desperately trying to hold back mounting waves of distress.

It's almost palpable-- he can practically see all the muscles in her small frame taut to the point of cramping, the fist-sized heart within her chest _(almost as black as his own)_ working over-time on adrenaline and worry.

He actually wasn't all that surprised to find her there waiting for him, not that he is going to acknowledge such out loud. _Always too perceptive, this one._

Her eyes follow the bag as it's slung unceremoniously over her sensei's right shoulder. Suddenly, her own shoulder seems to be bearing the same weight of all those tomes as well. Her hand goes to massage the spot without her even realizing it.

.

The man she's grown to admire more than anything in the world makes like he's on his way back out the door, but stops before actually getting there. Floorboards, older than the two of them combined, creak under his weight as he turns on his heels to finally look the girl in the eye for the first time in days.

In the darkness, she meets the striking amber contrast that are her hero's eyes, and commits to her fallacy by holding fast-- while the rest of her straight-out _falters_.

The tangy scent of newly spilled blood makes its course through the room, but that isn't the actual reason for the audible gasp which escapes her lips. _(How could a girl who'd practically grown up with a knife in her hands have accidentally cut the tip of her own finger off?)_

It had indeed been days since she'd last seen him. Things had admittedly been strange between the two even then, but it wasn't anything paralleled to _this_...

.

_**This...**_

.

_(What could have possibly happened between then and now, sensei?)_

.

This is her seeing him for the first time, she realizes, ignoring the blood flowing from between her fingertips to stain her knees. This is what it's like to _really see him_.

Not the genius, or the orphan _(which she'd always been so proud of sharing with him, because any likeness to sensei is an honor)_.

This isn't the legend, or the rarity. This isn't the _(as she proclaimed much to his annoyance)_ surrogate father, or the object of her hidden love.

_Definitely not_ the silky, black hair she could only dream of running her fingers through someday... Someday when she has really, truly proven herself...

Or the hypnotic eyes, the amazing jutsus, the tantalizing conundrum...

.

_**This--!**_

.  
.

This is, without a shred of doubt, her _abandonment_.

.  
.  
.

**-((**_What's coming through is alive. What's holding up is a mirror. But what's singing songs is a snake- looking to turn this piss to wine._

_They're both totally void of hate, but killing me just the same._**))-**

.  
.  
.  
.

_**ii.**_

.

  


.

.  
+++++++++++++++++++++++  


.

Days later, the girl will reflect upon not the inevitable fallout once her realization became solid, but the defining moments _after_--

Staring heavenward through the parting trees so far above, the way they seemed to frame the deep-black-blue sky so perfectly.

Sticks and gravel stamping odd markings into the skin of her knees.

She'll remember distinctly how the Moon had, for the first and only time she could recall, a companion right beside it-- Venus taking a surreal role, so bright, so unnatural looking.

She will muse at that moment, on the memory it stirred-- of a story she'd heard as a very young child, about a girl who'd fallen down a rabbit hole and the charismatic cat who'd led her astray...  
.

_"Would you like a little more tea?"_

_"Well, I haven't had any yet, so I can't very well take more."_

_"Ah, you mean you can't very well take less."_

_"Yes. You can always take more than nothing."  
_.  
+++++++++++++++++++++++  


.

.

She's clutching the blanket beneath her, seizing it for all she's worth and twisting it in her fists. The way she's pulling at it, aggravating her injured finger and blossoming blood into the fabric-- she's holding herself down, so she won't just spring forward and dig her forehead into the chest of the man still standing before her like a statue.

"If it was something I did, I swear--! No, I _promise_! On my own life- I'll make it better again! Please!"

.

So ignorant, this one. So utterly naive... and hopeless. He sighs and closes his eyes for a moment, effectively forcing the girl to clamp her mouth shut and start grinding her teeth.

"_You_ aren't the basis for my leaving."

.

Her mind is gradually shifting into nonsensical jumbles of _'would haves'- 'should haves'- 'what ifs'_... She knows he isn't lying; he would never lie to her. He told her so himself-- so, why? Why is she so sure he's lying at this very second, lying straight to her face without so much as fluttering an eyelash? 

Somewhere deep down, in that place where she's always shoved down the overpowering emotions considered _unnecessary_ or _foolish_-- a flood barrier is failing miserably and enabling that liquid poison access to her rational mind.

.  
.  
.

**-((**_The snake behind me hisses what my damage could have been. My blood before me begs me to open up my heart again._**))-**

.  
.  
.

"Is it because of the seal?! I was sick for too long afterward, I know it... I apologized!"

TRAITOROUS damned saline paints a trail down her cheeks.

"Y-You haven't given me a chance to prove myself, sensei! I KNOW I can master it! You wouldn't have chosen me otherwise, right?"

Nervous laughter, vision flicking back and forth between the cold eyes studying her outburst--

.  
"Did I _not just say_," he answers her coolly, despite his irritation, "your inadequacies are not the reason why I'm leaving."

.  
Her face falters for an instant, but she quickly gathers herself back.

"Tell me _why_, then!"

.  
**Silence.**

.  
.  
.

**-((**_And I feel this coming over like a storm again. Considerately._**))-**

.  
.  
.

She can't sit and do nothing any longer, so she lurches to her feet, rushing forward so quickly her master is almost taken aback. But he stays as stoic as ever _(though, in his mind, he's wondering why he's still there, but that's something to be considered later and definitely not now)_, and allows her to grip his shoulders under his vest with her child-like hands. Her head is hanging and she's trying to hide her tears, get her emotions under control, but she's failing miserably and those fingernails he always insisted she cut are now digging crescents into his shoulder-blades.

.

"You need to get yourself under control."

The tremble in her voice belays her anger. "**No**!"

.

At this, he grabs her chin roughly and jerks her face up to meet his eyes. She's trying to look mad, intimidating, he knows. But in those chestnut depths is nothing but fear and sadness and confusion.

She positively believes that this may be the last time she'll ever see his eyes, and she wills her memory to take snapshots and store them carefully away. Despite this feeling of having already lost what's right in front of her, she can't help but make a last demand, a last appeal.

.

"Take me with you."

.

.

"...No."

.

And _that_ is _that_. Before she even has a chance to really digest the violently blunt and painful dismissal still hanging in the air, her hero has pried her hands away from his body and walked out the door. 

.

.

.

**-((**_Venomous voice, tempts me, drains me, bleeds me... Leaves me cracked and empty. Drags me down like some sweet gravity._**))-**

.

.

.

.

_**iii.**_

.

.

.  
+++++++++++++++++++++++

Days later, the interrogators will ask her what she did next, and she will lie. But, this time, not for the sake of the fleeting loyalty to her now-declared criminal sensei.

She will lie, and she will do it very, _very_ well. And she will do it this time to protect her crumbled ego, to shield all eyes away from her gaping vulnerability. She will pretend to be an accessory when, in reality, she was nothing but a puppet. And maybe-- _just maybe_ --they will kill her for it.

Because, if they don't... she'll have to do it herself.

.  
+++++++++++++++++++++++

.

.

.

**-((**_I am too connected to you to slip away, to fade away. Days away I still feel you touching me, changing me... And considerately killing me._**))-**

.

.

.

He's barely a quarter-mile into the surrounding forest when he feels strong arms slide around his waist.

.

"Please, take me with you... _Orochimaru-sama_..!" 

She's digging her feet into the ground and locking her elbows in an attempt to completely hinder his movement. He chooses to humor her one last time and stops, so she removes herself from his back and watches intently as he turns to once again meet her gaze.

But, this time, by the look on his face and the pitch of his chin as he stares down at her, she can't seem to even remember all those things she used to see when he looked at her before. The feeling leaves a sour taste in her mouth and a knot in her gut which- she'll realize later -will take years to wash away and untie.

"Sen--?"

"I don't have time for this behavior from you, Anko," he cuts her off with a voice screaming finality. "Just return to the village and forget about all _this_." There's no ignoring the dismissive wave of his hand. "There is nothing for me here anymore so I must be leaving; do you understand what I'm saying?" As if she'd just agreed, which she hadn't, he continues before possible rebut, "Konoha is _dead to me_. You'd best remember that if we ever meet again."

.

She'd really be a fool to say that she hadn't seen this coming. Around every turn in her sensei's search for whatever it was he so desperately sought, obstacles just kept piling up. Details weren't a commodity allowed to her, but she was perceptive enough and had witnessed enough first hand to know that Orochimaru was into some seriously taboo and sometimes down-right forbidden things. Of course, she couldn't have cared less about the rules. This was her sensei, her parent, her leader... Whatever it was he needed so badly could be nothing but deathly important, right? The experiments, the unexplained deaths, the cursed seal... They were all for a greater good. Right? 

.

.

_Right?!_

.

.

Anko clenches her fists at her sides and allows the frustrated tears to fall as she digests her spinning thoughts. This niggling feeling, right there... she can almost pin-point it's location at the back of her skull... This condemning feeling that she is missing some kind of very important detail.

_(That fucking commodity of knowing what is actually going on here!) _

And why in God's name does it feel like invisible strings are being lanced from her body the further away her teacher's back becomes?!

.

.

Suddenly, her eyes are very clear and that quivering weakness brought on by crying has--

.

--_completely disappeared. _

.  
.  
.

**-((**_The North wind doth blow and we shall have snow,  
And what will poor robin do then, poor thing?_**))-**

.

.

.

.

_**iv.**_

.

.

.

-----_"That old fool!"_

.

His outburst and raw temper make every nerve-ending in her body stand at attention. This man was beyond furious. This man, whom she'd known for what felt like her entire life... he'd never been this mad before! It terrified her down to her very core.

.

"He chose that brat, _Arashi_- That fucking--"

.

She realized, as his voice moved further and further away from where she laid hidden amongst the Olive Bushes outside the Hokage's office, that she'd never heard her sensei curse before. Which was an odd thing to focus on, considering the fact that the much larger issue here was that her hero, the strongest of all the shinobi in Konoha, one of the _Legendary Three_--

--had just been picked over for the position of Fourth Hokage.

.

.

That same evening, on training field 4, Anko's supposed training turned into a one-sided beating _so harsh_...

_(She'll never, ever admit to anyone that beneath her unruly hair-style lay a perfectly round scar where nothing will grow. And beneath that knotted, white skin is a metal plate.)_-----

.

.

.

Despite the fact that she can hardly see him any longer along the overgrown trail, she chucks a kunai directly intended for his back anyway.

.

_"Konoha is dead to me. You'd best remember that if we ever meet again."_

.

It lands somewhere amongst the stone-covered path, far enough away that she can't see it, but she can certainly hear it. She'll be hearing that noise for many years to come.

_(And so will her sensei-- against all that hardened, callous exterior --he will hear the din of metal hitting rock somewhere behind him. As well as the ungodly, pure scream that followed.)_

**"OROCHIMARU! YOU FUCKING _COWARD_!!!"  
**

.

.

.

**-((**_She'll sit in a barn and keep himself warm  
and hide her head under her wing, poor thing._**))-**

.

.

.

.

_**v.**_

.  
+++++++++++++++++++++++

Six hours later, two ANBU operatives will find Anko still kneeling in the place she'd shrunk to when the pain of her seal had become too much for her to bear. _(She will of course leave that detail out when they ask her what happened, and if she's been injured.)_

She will stay in that spot as more ANBU show up on the scene, and none of them will ask her to stand. But they will tell her to _"stay put"_. And they will have eyes laced with suspicions hidden behind their carved bone masks. And this will, of course, piss her off to no end.

The area will suddenly become infested with activity, especially when the Forensics Squad makes their appearance, and Anko will just sit and watch as they tear her sensei's home to pieces in search for all the things she'd watched him pack and leave with. And whatever those things were that he'd stolen away with-- the capacity to care about it right then will be easily shoved aside to make room for the deluge of self-loathing taking over.

_(It'll need a lot of room, you see, because she has years worth of it and probably more in-coming.)_

When the Hokage himself arrives, she will not look him in the eye, and he will note this very carefully.

By the time her sensei's lavender bed cover _(it was lavender all along, she'll muse morosely)_ is presented to her by a hard-faced Medic-nin, she'll only spare the nuisance a sickening laugh and close her eyes to the others gravitating in their direction.

This day will peak when someone _(she won't see who, because she's still clamping her eyes shut in a sophomoric attempt to block them out)_ suggests loudly--

_ "Orochimaru may have raped his student."_

When her eyes shoot open she'll see that damned blanket still hanging in front of her face, crimson stains front and center and reminding her eerily of some kind of crime scene _(which she was obviously a part of, considering the long-forgotten blood dried on her hands and trousers)_.

.

And then she'll _really_ see red.

.  
+++++++++++++++++++++++

.

.

.

.

_**vi.**_

.

.

.

Anko hates the Sandaime because Orochimaru hates him, and that fact _(minus the basis)_ is made very clear the first time she sits down with him.

"I hate you," she says, turning away from his form in the doorway, trying to not sound as scared as she really is.

The masked figure standing behind her gives her chair a swift kick, almost toppling the youth shackled there-on. "Show some respect, brat!" he rasps, voice muffled but still marked by authority.

.

She wonders briefly if the man knew her sensei and if he hates him as much as everyone else seems to. And she smirks then, because of course he hates Orochimaru. The entire village is afraid of such power, and she finds them all despicably weak because of it.

Which reminds her of her position once again-- hated by-proxy --and her smirk widens into a full-on smile. "Bite me."

.

The ANBU on the opposite wall pushes himself off at that moment, walking towards the table until he's standing directly in front of her. She goes out of her way to make eye-contact with him _(as best she can when peering into shadowed, hollow mask's eyes)_ because she can't and won't show weakness, and he only holds her stare with equal intensity before barking with laughter.

"She's definitely that bastard's student, no doubt about it!" he declares ruefully, which is lost on the girl because she has yet to realize why that's a _bad thing_. He points a gloved digit right in her face and she winces accidentally, an angry blush tinting her cheeks in embarrassment. "Oh, we'll bite. If you don't start telling us what we want to know soon, you'll wish that all we did was bite."

Her eyes widen just slightly at the implication, but her fury surely numbs that new fear as the laughter in front and behind her start grinding on her nerves.

The Sandaime raises a hand as he steps further into the room, quieting the two operatives almost unnaturally fast. "That's enough of that."

He, unlike the others, does not seem amused.

His chair scrapes the floor as he takes his seat opposite her, and his pipe-smoke hovers where he once was before dissipating. It's then that Anko decides she hates pipe-smoke and the colors red and white. Her smile turns into a deep frown.

Under the dim 60-watt bulb swinging aimlessly overhead, she studies the humble face before her with the eyes of a child. She hates the creases around his kind eyes, and with that she further decides that she hates kind eyes as well.

.

She especially hates the way his eyes give no clues, and she hates the way he seems to know hers give it all away.

.

"Anko-chan," he begins, lowering his pipe to sit on the table as he speaks.

"Don't call me that," she spits back aggressively, before he can continue.

The operative behind her twitches minutely but he might as well have jumped on her. Once again her body betrays her and tenses up quite obviously, her shoulders coming up as if she's ready to receive a lashing from behind.

Of course, Sarutobi sees this as clear as day and sighs loudly, resisting the urge to rub the aggravation away from his temples.

He raises his hand in treaty and speaks clearly with that voice reserved only for giving orders. "I'd like to speak with this girl alone, thank you."

The three ANBU hesitate momentarily but file out as told. Anko can tell they'd rather debate the idea but, to her own humor, are too whipped to refuse such a direct order. She muses on the point that these elites don't trust her. Because she may become violent and perhaps the steel binding her arms behind her back-- twisting her very capable hands painfully away from one another --as well as the contraption holding her feet to the floor, might not contain the student of the Legendary Orochimaru. _(She wishes that were really the case, but then she'd really be lying to herself, wouldn't she?)_

The room falls silent once again, save for the sounds in the walls which seem entirely too loud now. _And where the hell is that water dripping from?_

The Hokage clears his throat loudly and she once again draws her attention back to his face.

"So what would you rather be called?"

She blinks for a second, confused. "Er... What?"

"You said you don't want to be called by your name, so I'm curious what you'd like to be called," he clarifies with an amused smile.

_Ohhhh, riiight._ She shrugs. It doesn't really matter, does it? She just doesn't want him to talk to her, to get right down to it. Maybe she should just tell him that instead...

"I _don't _want to talk to you."

The old man makes a strange noise somewhere between laughter and exasperation, settling back against his chair ever so slightly while doing so. He never lets his gaze leave hers, and she begins to wonder if these are the 'wizened eyes' she's heard of before somewhere.

.

.

.

.

_**vii.**_

.

.

.

The Sandaime may be kind. He may be generous. He may be deeply in love with his village.

He may also fair.

Case in point: Anko does not actually see the light of day or smell the outside air for nearly five months after Orochimaru's defection. The Hokage's _unbending fairness_ has kept her within ANBU headquarters as Summer burned away, and Fall was well on its way into Winter.

She's released from their keep with only a few things to call her own:

The same clothes she came in with.

A thickened scar caressing her neck.

Her very own ANBU watch-dog.

And a deep sense of having aged at _least_ a few years.

.

When she glimpses the village for the first time with her new eyes, it brings her pleasure to see that all of the trees have died... And she can't decide which is worse; the fact that she's always _felt_ alone, or the fact that now she _really is_.

.

.

.

.

.

.

_End Chapter One_  
_**TBC...**_

._  
Song lyrics from the song 'H' by Tool.  
Can't remember what the poem is called, but it's not mine._


End file.
